Snapshots
by That Kid's Lost
Summary: I know it's a terrible title. These are little ficlets set between certain episodes that illustrate a slightly AU version of the Doctor/Rose relationship.Smut, fluff, angst. Read and review please! The first ficlet is set after Satan Pit .
1. Chapter 1

He yawned so largely that she thought his mouth was bigger than his face for a moment. "Tired?" she asked with a smirk, cherishing this side of the Doctor that she rarely saw. He just nodded, rubbing at his eyes. "I'm going to sleep. Yes, I need sleep, you know that, and I know you were about to ask me because you ask me every time. I'm fine." He continued rambling all the way down the hall until he was out of earshot. Rose just grinned and shook her head.

The TARDIS, as usual, hummed in her subconscious, but when she focused on the sound a message seemed to appear. Rose shook her head. "I'm just tired," she said to herself, but all the same she got the feeling that something was wrong with the ship. She found herself picking up the nearest tool- a wrench- and satring down at the console, wondering what was wrong, whether she could or should even try to help, and where to start if she did.

After a few minutes, a voice startled her out of what had felt like a trance. "What're you trying to do there, huh?" She looked over her shoulder to see the Doctor standing in the doorway to the console room, wearing sweatpants and a tee shirt instead of his usual suit. He threw her so off guard that she could only stammer in reply. He sauntered toward her like he didn't know why she was so confused. "Something wrong with the ship?" She could swear that the TARDIS was laughing at her.

"No. I mean, yes. I mean… she, in my mind, you know, she said that something was wrong with the… with the heater?" She didn't know for sure that the TARDIS could form real thoughts in her own mind, or that the TARDIS has a heater, or that anything was wrong with it, but that was the impression she had gotten. The Doctor scratched the side of his head, now beside her. "What did she say exactly?"

"Um, something about, us, uh, needing to make our own heat? I just thought that probably meant somethin' was wrong with the heater. That is… 'm I right?" He had broken into a half smile that nearly killed her, shaking his head as if he knew something she didn't. And of course, he did. He always did. He gave the console a playful slap, as if chastising a pet for jumping on the furniture. "Well, not exactly. Nothing's wrong with the heater. The TARDIS is, well…she likes innuendo. Likes to play mind games, too."

Rose wasn't sure what to make of that. She understood the innuendo, of course, and that understanding made her blush furiously, but she didn't understand the intentions- the ship's or the alien's. As she mulled that over, she lost track of the Doctor, who, had she cared to notice him, she'd find was gazing at her in an almost entranced manner, the beautiful half-smile plastered onto his face. She didn't notice him, in fact, until he spoke again.

"Have I ever told you that you're beautiful?"

She nearly choked, staring over at him, palms immediately starting to sweat.

"I… what? No. I'm not. That is, I'm not, um, doing anything special with my hair or anythin'. I'm not anything different." It made more sense in her mind. He continued smiling, facing her, reaching out to cup the back of her neck in one hand.

"No, but you're happy. And a happy Rose is quite possibly the most beautiful thing I know."

The blood that had rushed to her face rushed back to her toes. Where was any of this coming from? She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, and then tried to speak again. All that came out was more stammering. He smiled that beautiful smile at her again and said, softly, "Just say thank you, Rose."

"Thank you," she managed as his thumb grazed her cheek.

Then, before she had any chance to make sense of what was happening, their lips had met in a tender kiss. All her wildest dreams had started to come true, and she had no way of dealing with it- so she melted into his arms for the brief moment the kiss lasted, promising herself to worry about it later. After all, he had kissed her.

Wait a minute. He had kissed her. Something wasn't right there. He'd never shown any kind of interest in her before- not like that. When he pulled back, she dropped the wrench with a clang and stared at him as the gravity of what had just happened finally hit her.

"Did you just kiss me?"

He grinned like a kid in a candy shop, his hands in his pockets again. "Yep." He popped the 'p' like he always did when he was feeling so… so infuriatingly chipper. "And I'd do it again. In a heartbeat." He chuckled at himself and leaned forward again, just barely grazing her lips with his. She went to respond to him, but he had already pulled away again and was smiling at her, laughter in his deep brown eyes. Her mouth fell open.

"It's not polite to stare," he admonished her, still smiling.

"I'm sorry, but what brought this on?" She wasn't complaining. Not in the least. But she needed to know that this wasn't some elaborate joke.

He rocked back on his heels, thinking. "Welllll, I'd say I've been planning your gift for about… three or four weeks now."

Realization dawned on her but didn't seem to shed much light on the situation. "My birthday's tomorrow."

He nodded patiently. "Happy almost-birthday."

"So that kiss was my birthday present?"

He laughed out loud at that one. "No!" He stood stock still then, eyes darkening just the slightest as he drew closer to her. "No, not in the least. That's just the beginning."

Her knees went weak. Did he mean what she thought he might mean? Heat flooded her body. He'd gone serious on her.

"Now," he murmured, sidling even closer, so close that they were nearly touching, "Remember, I'd never make you do anything you didn't want to do." He reached out and clasped her to him with one arm around her waist, the other tracing patterns on the back of her neck with nimble fingers. The feel of his wiry, solid body suddenly pressed against hers was almost too much for her. Her palms lay flat on his chest as her mind- and heart- raced. "How would you know what I wanted to do?" She asked him, so close to just giving herself over.

"Because," he leaned her against the console, both arms curling possessively around her waist as he leaned in to press a trail of hot, openmouthed kisses from her ear to the base of her neck, "I can smell you."

She knew he had a superior sense of smell, so why did it shock her so much that he could smell her arousal? Maybe because she hadn't realized she was aroused. No, that wasn't it. It was because he wasn't. Aroused, that is. At least, not as far as she could tell, which was pretty far. She shivered in his arms.

"You callin' me beautiful woulda' been enough of a present for me," she admitted, a grin appearing on her face. His nose rested on her collarbone for a moment before he looked up again, licking his lips. "In that case, Rose Tyler, prepare to have your mind blown."

But nothing could have prepared her for what followed.

The next kiss wasn't tender or chaste, it was almost bruising in its passion. His lips toyed with hers as if each move were perfectly calculated- if that were true she wouldn't be surprised- and she wrapped her arms around his neck, needing to be closer to him, needing more of him. She nipped eagerly at his bottom lip, begging entrance for her tongue, and he obliged, one hand leaving her waist to reach up and pull her hair gently out of the ponytail she had it in.

"I was going to wait," he said breathlessly, between kisses, "but really all I needed was a bit of a push in the right direction."

Through the haze of warmth and skin and Doctor surrounding her mind she realized that he was talking about the TARDIS' little joke, and she huffed laughter at him, fingernails just barely scraping the back of his neck as she bent him closer to her. She kissed him again, now more in control as she pushed her confusion and shock to the back of her mind.

"Now," he murmured, pulling back to kiss her nose, her cheek, her pulse point, "I realize that I've already waited too long." She let out a breath, leaning back into the console, hands falling to his shoulders as he kissed her neck, and then murmured her assent. "We'll just have to make up for lost time," she suggested breathily. He put enough distance between them so that their gazes could lock once again, and the intensity in his eyes nearly shocked her back into silence.

"Starting now."

It was as if those words had given him all the permission he needed. He lifted her up so that she could wrap her legs around his waist and carried her out of the console room, their kisses growing more feverish and rushed with every step.

He collapsed onto his bed back first so that she was left straddling him, staring down at him through heavily-lidded hazel eyes. But something was wrong. She ground her hips against his experimentally and he moaned, head falling against the mattress, but no- he wasn't hard. Not in the least.

She felt disappointment flood through her, stalling any desire he'd awoken since he first kissed her. "Doctor," she intoned soberly, "you're not. I mean, you're not. Um." He lifted his head off the mattress again, propping himself up on his elbows. "What? What is it?" The utter confusion she could see through the brown fringe of his hair made her feel even worse. What if he couldn't get aroused? What if…God. What if he didn't even have the… _parts_ to get aroused? She realized then how little she knew about time lord physiology, and swallowed.

"Rose? What's wrong?"  
"You're not…" she swallowed again. "Doctor, you're not…_aroused_."

So many emotions flickered across his face at once that she couldn't catch one all on its own. His head thumped back on the mattress as he let out what sounded like a frustrated breath. "Quite the contrary, Rose, I can assure you. I am _quite_ aroused." So did that mean he _didn't_ have the parts? Despair and embarrassment threatened to choke her up and she had to swallow yet again, palms flat on his stomach as he breathed beneath her.

"There's just one problem," he continued, sounding anguished. "I've had to… that is, nearly all the time I've spent with you in this new body, I've had to fight to _not_ get aroused every time you looked at me. And now it seems…I've gotten too good at it, I suppose."

She was at once flattered and nonplussed. "So what? Can't you just… I dunno, turn it off?"

"I wish it were that simple. And I wish I understood, too, but I've never felt anything like this before, so I don't know how to stop it. The only thing I could think was if you got me so outrageously flustered that I lost any kind of control over myself." She blew air over her lips, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Yeah, okay. That makes sense. But how would I do that?" He glanced at her, rubbing the back of his neck. "Um. Well. You could, uh…one thing I thought of…not that I'd, you know, fantasized about it-I didn't-but I was thinking maybe you could…" She waited patiently, watching him, loving how flustered he was already. "Well, perhaps, that is, if you were willing to….I'd never make you..." he couldn't even look at her, a blush rising in his cheeks. She had to stifle a giggle, leaning over him as he stared anywhere but at her.

She braced herself above him with her hands on either side of his head, and he finally had to look up at her again. The look in his eyes was that of a child caught doing something he knew he shouldn't ever do- he was mortified. She grinned at him, the tip of her tongue caught between her teeth. "You want me to talk dirty to you, Doctor?" She saw the fine hairs on his neck stand straight up as he took a deep breath, eyes wide. "I thought it might... well, yes," he admitted, furrowing his brow.

She kissed him deeply, taking her time, one elbow propping her up while her other hand undid a few of her shirt buttons. "You may not have fantasized about me," she began, avoiding his attempts to catch her lips again, "but I've fantasized about _you_ often enough."

"Really?" he choked out, staring at her in disbelief. She just grinned and reached out to work his tie loose. "Oh, yes. I've dreamt about us making love all over the place." He shivered beneath her. She pulled the tie over his head and ran a hand through his hair, scraping her fingernails against his scalp, drawing a thin moan from his lips. "Where?" he croaked, reaching to undo her buttons as she stroked his hair. "_Everywhere_," she drew out the syllables, peeling off her shirt and working on his buttons as his hands spread over her lower back, solid and warm. "In my room, in your room, in the bathroom, in the library, in the kitchen, even in the console room, on the captain's chair. Everywhere." She pushed his shirt apart, exposing his chest to her ravenous gaze as he sighed, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of her neck. "I'd wake up wet with sweat and hot with need. I can't even tell you how many times I've needed to…take care of business…after waking up from one of those dreams."

She could hardly believe she was talking like this, especially to the Doctor, but once she'd gotten started, the confessions just seemed to drip from her lips. He shifted beneath her, tugging off his shirt completely and reaching around her back to her bra clasp as she continued, fingers tracing a trail from his collarbone to his navel. "I'd dream about your hair- God, your beautiful hair- or your lips, your arms around me, your body pinning mine down…" he moaned, closing his eyes, and finally was able to release the clasp of her bra. She shimmied out of it and leaned forward, pressing her breasts to his chest, whispering in his ear. "Your cock thrusting inside me…" he moaned again, arms clasping around her, hips giving the slightest of twitches beneath her own, "I'd dream of your fingers, too," she nipped at his earlobe, "And your tongue. Your tongue is good for talking, but I always ended up wondering what else it was good for." The noise she drew from him when she ground her hips against him this time was more of a whimper than a groan- and this time, she could feel his erection pressing into her thigh. She ginned down at him smugly, reaching down to unbutton her pants.

"You're hard," she announced unnecessarily, wriggling out of her jeans.

"Stop," he growled, opening his eyes, now dark with desire as he shifted beneath her, freeing himself from his suit pants. He flipped her over so that he was straddling her, and then scooted off of her, dragging her knickers with him as he took in the sight of her with hungry eyes. She didn't stop.

"I've always wondered what you taste like, too," she continued, spreading her legs. He slipped out of his shorts and stroked himself furiously for a moment. "Always wondered what it would feel like to…" she lost her train of thought when she felt his finger slip inside her.

His finger! He was ginning at her with his head between her legs, pumping his finger slowly in and out of her center. She let out a strangled breath, head falling to the mattress as his had done before. "God," she breathed, as he added another finger. Desire swelled inside her and warmth rushed to the space below her belly button as she fought for her breath.

If that weren't enough, after a moment, he leaned forward and swirled his tongue over her clit. She twined her fingers in his hair and moaned, pleasure coiling as he thrust and swirled. She lost track of time as he sped up, pumping, swirling, stroking her into flames. She tugged on his hair, gasping for air as she felt her orgasm approaching. "Doctor, I- Doctor!" He thrust as deeply into her as he could and twisted his hand at the last moment, sending her tumbling into sweet oblivion as she clenched around his fingers, chest heaving, knees clamping around his head as her hips bucked wildly.

When she was able to open her eyes again, she saw him stroking himself once more, looking desperate. She caught his hand with hers and took over, exploring the baby-soft skin with gentle hands and fingers. It was only a matter of moments before he moaned softly for her to stop, and this time she obliged, readying herself.

He leaned over her and kissed her languidly, positioning himself cautiously over her still-throbbing center, and then, with a growl of satisfaction, he thrust into her. It took them a moment to get oriented to the position, to each other, but then he established a slow, tortuous pattern as he thrust in and out of her. One of his hands found her breast and flicked, pinched, and stroked her nipple, drawing whimpers of need from her lips. She reached between them and toyed with his balls, refusing to let him get away with more than she could and reveling in his groan of encouragement as she squeezed gently.

After a minute, he removed himself from her completely and then slowly entered her again. He repeated this at least four times before she could take it no longer.

"Doctor," she begged, fists clenching the blanket beneath her, "_Fuck me_."

That was too much for him. With a low, throaty cry, he thrust into her wildly again and again, jostling her with his rough strokes. He lost rhythm as his orgasm sped toward him, balls slapping into her, grunting as he delved deep into her with each thrust. She cried out as her own orgasm snuck up on her, coils of desire lighting her into flames once again as she came, walls clenching around him, hips rocking against his.

That was enough to send him over the edge. Her spasms continued as he let out a final moan of satisfaction, emptying himself inside her before falling, exhausted, half on top of her.

When she could breathe again, she laughed, a throaty sound that she was surprised had come from her. He rolled off of her and heaved a sigh before he joined her, chuckling to himself as he slipped beneath the covers with Rose close behind him.

He gathered her close to him, arms wrapping tightly around her, and she rested her head against his chest, taking comfort in the unpredictable staccato beat of his two hearts. "Happy birthday," he murmured, stroking her hair as she tilted her head to look up at him. She kissed him tenderly, reaching up to caress his cheek as she replied sleepily, "I love you, Doctor."

It was only a few more minutes before they fell asleep ensconced in one another's embrace. The TARDIS, for all that she'd been through, knew then that no matter what would change with the twists and turns of time and space, their love would be infinite.


	2. Chapter 2

(I was so in need of this fluff. SO IN NEED. OF THIS. FLUFF. End of time. Need I say more? Love all the story alerts and favorites, thanks so much! Be sure to review and tell me how I'm doing!)

"We can never be together forever," he reminds her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "No matter how much we want it, no matter how unfair it is, you and I were never meant to have forever, Rose."

She doesn't believe him. She thinks he's worried, she thinks he's scared, she thinks he's in denial, she thinks he doesn't really love her. She thinks anything but that he's telling the truth. Still, she gives him a rueful smile.

And he knows she doesn't believe him, and it hurts. It hurts him to think that she'll lose him and he'll lose her and that no matter how he warns her, neither of them will ever be ready to lose this. It hurts that he anticipated this, that he tried to stop this- this overwhelming love for the human lying next to him- and that he couldn't. That Rose Tyler was too strong for him and that his willpower was no match for her innocent allure.

And yet, he likes to think of her as his thanks. If only for a short time, they can be like this. After all the countless times he's saved so many lives, times that nobody knew he was there, times that nobody thanked him, now he has her. He has Rose to lie with, to hold, to love while he knows that he'll have to go on without her someday. He can only hope that he'll be able to save her life when the time comes, that their separation won't be caused by her death (or his).

And he wishes he could put all that in words, but even if he could, they'd be in another language, and even if they weren't, she's not ready to listen to him just yet. She may never be.

So he lets his lips talk without words. He kisses her gently, innocently, as she curls herself closer to him. He assists her, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her closer until there's no air between them and through their shirts he can feel the lonely beat of her single heart.

She's in no mood for slow tonight, though. A sudden hunger rushes through her, as if there's a clock ticking somewhere and she knows with a biting conviction that she has very little time there with him. She needs more of him, urgently.

She deepens the kiss, reaching up to cup the back of his neck, feeling the brush of his hair on her forehead, his strong, wiry arms tightly around her, his fingers wound into her hair, and manages to work him over onto his back so that she's straddling him, bent over, kissing him, and he's left wondering how a simple little kiss turned into whatever's going on.

He doesn't resent it, of course, because the heated passion from the past few months that they've shared is missing from this. Their kisses are like sorrowful wishes, exchanged, understood, bitter and syrupy-sweet. She knows him more in this moment, running her hands along his chest, than she ever has before and ever will again. And he sees that the idea of no forever isn't quite as troubling for her as it is for him, and it's not because she doesn't love him- it's because she's human, and so is used to the idea of everything having a shelf life. Even their love.

He can't help but love her even more for her mortality. They kiss each other breathless time and time again, until they're exhausted and she's content to lie in his arms, listening to their combined breaths and heartbeats, feeling his chest rise and fall and the brush of his lips on her forehead as sleep envelopes her.


	3. Chapter 3

It's only later that he feels the guilt; only later that he realizes how he's condemned her.

He wakes to find that their legs are intertwined, her hand resting on his chest. Panic grips him as he gazes at her, rakes her for signs of a pulse, of breath- ah, yes, there it is. Right as rain. Why had he thought she was dead?

He stretches and rolls away from her, pushing himself to his feet and staring down at her as she readjusted herself on his bed, biting her lip in her sleep. Of all the terrible things he's done, this is the worst of them.

He closes his eyes and leans against the wall as he remembers the night of her birthday, the night he lost all control, all respect for any and all boundaries. Remembers pouting lips and breathless cries and skin on skin. Remembers the taste of Rose, the feel of her, the scent of her.

He can't lose that, but he can't do this to her, can't love her like this- it's irresponsible and it's wrong and it would break her heart. Better now, though, he muses, than later, when she might be too far gone to pick up the pieces. At least this way she'll only have a little to remember of the way we could've been.

But the lovemaking, he can't imagine losing. He wants to be her lover. He wants to be her lover forever and always, but the best he can let himself do is make love to her, with a false pretense of some sort. Just friends, he'll tell her. Let's be just friends. During the day.

He doesn't want to do this to her, really, truly doesn't, but he forces himself to face the music. He opens his eyes to see her gazing at him with bleary hazel eyes, half-smiling.

The only thing he has to say to her, softly, eyes on the floor, is, "You're a good friend, Rose Tyler," and she knows. He leaves without a word, the soft pad of bare feet the only sound that reaches her shocked ears.

A good friend?

Friends.

After all she and him have done, she's still stuck in that fatal 'friends' zone. For all she knows, Time Lords and their friends romp in bed all the time. The thing is, she could've sworn that there was more than friendship in the way he caressed her. In the way he told her she was beautiful.

Maybe, though, that's all part of the act. She buries her head in the mattress, breathing in his smell. It's over now. Something is, at least, even if she isn't sure what exactly. She tries to remember the werewolf from yesterday, but all she can seem to bring back to mind is feverish kissing, warm sheets, and a long-bodied, obscenely handsome man in pinstripes. And then not in pinstripes, not in anything at all.

"I'll show him," she mutters, voice muffled. "I'll be fine. I'll act like nothing ever happened."

And for the next two weeks, that's exactly what she does.

They travel together by day, same as always, but some nights he creeps into her room with a question in his dark eyes, one that she always answers by drawing him into bed with her. The way they make love in the dark, without saying anything of even mild importance, makes sure that she knows he doesn't really want her love. And still, she can't stop letting him in.

And he loves her more for that, for unconsciously knowing that this is an act. That he loves her, always will, but he can't let her go completely. Not just yet. Every time, he promises himself he won't come back for more. And every time, she promises herself that she'll tell him 'no'.

Neither of them ever does.


	4. Chapter 4

"Humans decay. You wither and you die." There's poison in his words. She can see that he's trying to hurt her, trying to get her to leave him, just like he had the night after the werewolves and the Queen. Doesn't he know by now that she's not going anywhere? She swallows and he continues, hissing out, "Imagine watching that happen to someone you- "

He stops mid sentence. Is that pain she sees in his eyes? Sorrow, maybe? And a touch of something more, definitely something more. Something not unlike he used to look at her before he shut her out. "What, Doctor?" she asks, and it's more than just a question. She's trying to get him to come out and talk to her. He may not be speaking about what she wants him to address, but he's speaking truthfully now, and if she can just get him to say it, maybe he'll act like it again and she can stop feeling more and more like she imagined it. Like she's crazy for ever have thinking he might have loved her.

That night when he slips into her room, he doesn't come to the bed right away. He just stands there, staring at her. She stares back, trying to find the man she loves, the man Sarah Jane loved.

"Some things are worth getting your heart broken for," she'd said.

Does that mean the way he makes her feel, or the things he shows her during the day? Will she ever know the difference?

When they do finally end up making love, she's angry. Angry at herself for letting him use her like this, angry at him for making her think he loved her, angry at Sarah Jane for not telling her to leave.

And when they finish, before he leaves, she swears she sees the glint of unshed tears in his eyes.


End file.
